You knew the second Santana got her letter.
It was a Wednesday. You remember, because Wednesdays were the longest and hottest days of the summer and since it was the middle of summer, it was the hottest and longest. You had known her for three years, ever since second grade when someone called you stupid and they were suddenly picked up and hung on a tree branch by a gust of wind. That was the first time she had ever used magic, and that was the first time the pretty girl from 3B had ever shown you any attention. And for months, it was perfect. She told you about everything, things that you had only read before in your fairy tale books that your older sister had teased you about. There were monsters that everyone was afraid of, but there were also creatures you had always dreamed about – unicorns, and elves, and everything else under the sun or above it. And then there was magic. Witches. Like her.
"My family's from England." She said smugly, while the two of you were huddled under the worn comforters that you had taken out of the hallway cabinet while Mommy was looking the other way. You stared at Santana's smile, the way it was twisted slightly at the ends and how her eyebrows stretched out like they were trying to escape from her forehead. You smiled. Sometimes, she was adorable.
She took your silence for disbelief (like you could ever not believe her. She always told the truth about some things. Like this.) "Really, they are! Well, my Gran from my mother's side is. And there's this magical place there. Where everyone is just like me. No one calls you weird or tries to take your lunch or anythi-no, don't get sad, Britt. I don't mind. Better me than you." That's not why you were frowning. You didn't mind anyone else at school. They were mean and they pulled your pigtails when Santana wasn't around, but it was okay. Because every chance you got, you had that perfect little moment with just you and just her together.
But what if she went to this new school, with everyone else like her? That means people not like you. Normals. Non-specials. (You heard her parents call you a different word once under their breath, but you don't know how blood could be dirty. It sounded horrible.)
You weren't special. You were just Brittany. Simple.
But her smile turned from smug to happy without her even realizing it. And she began to talk about cloaks, and owls (you tried to trap one for her after she told you, but your mom wasn't nearly as impressed with that discovery in your bedroom closet), and even still: brooms. She pulled out notebooks with drawings sketched all over them, and secret video clips she had taken from her parent's room. You couldn't tell her what you were thinking. It wasn't fair. San deserved this. So you said nothing.
And ever since then, that's all she could talk about. Except today.
So it had to be her letter. It just had to be.
Anyway, it was a Wednesday. And the two of you were sitting together on this big towel that felt like sand paper against your skin compared to the brief contact Santana's side would sometimes make against your own, soft like the sound rain makes when your eyes are half-open in the morning during winter and you don't need to get up yet. You looked over at Santana, in that bikini that she insisted her parents buy for her the second she hit double digits and the sunglasses that her older cousin left in the pool house over spring break. Depending on the way the light hit her, she looked either younger than she was or older. You looked back down at your red one-piece with ducks on it. It clinged in weird places and rode up when it shouldn't and your legs looked like pieces of wood that went on forever. Back at San. You. Back.
"What're you thinking about?"
"Ducks. Wood." You.
She was lying on her back, you two were matching, and she turned her head towards your face so you were inches away. You gulped. "Ducks?" You nodded, biting your lip slightly. Her eyes were looking into yours, even though the shades were covering her eyes. You could tell. She was making that face that meant she was trying to see past whatever it is you were saying and piece together what you mean. No one but her ever did that. Sometimes, even you didn't try to figure out what you meant. She looked you down from head to toe, causing a pit of nerves to collect in your stomach at the way she was inspecting you like you were hiding something. No one ever stared at you for too long. It was nerve-wrecking for a wallflower to be seen for so long. Finally, her face had her aha moment. "Your bathing suit is fine, Brittany." She leaned back, satisfied. "You look like those lifeguards from that show we saw that one time." You knew exactly what she meant. "And besides, we're just in my back yard. Who do you have to impress even if it was silly? I'm not saying it is, but you know." Santana shrugged her shoulders in that what can you do way. "So, see. Nothing to think about."
Sometimes, you think about what goes on in Santana's head. But you wouldn't ever try to figure out what she means like the way she does for you. It's not the same. So it's hard for you to bring up that nagging suspicion in the back of your mind.
"Have you had any more magic moments?" That's what you two called it, when her emotion heightened to such a level that she just did without even saying any words or meaning to. Well, she said she didn't mean it, but you thought otherwise. The last time was a week ago at the swimming pool, when Stacy Meyers fell off the edge and her bikini top fell right off. She had tripped you and you almost hit your head on the hard concrete floor. She made a snide comment that didn't go over your head about how maybe you would be smarter if you were knocked around a few times.
Santana doesn't forgive or forget.
"You would know, Brittany. I'm around you like all the time." And she was. You two were glued to the hip since the first day you met.
"I know." Your hand brushed the decorative hip strings on Santana's bikini bottom, and you began to absentmindedly fiddle with it while your mouth waited for your brain to parse together what your heart was thinking to send the message through. You knew she wouldn't tell you unless you asked, because her philosophy was that she wasn't lying if she just didn't talk about it at all. But it wasn't the same with you two. At least, that's what you thought. But there she was, not saying anything, content to lie in the sun and completely forget the magical elephant in the room that was upset that she hadn't talked about it with Brittany for ten whole minutes. You decided to take action. Well, sort of. "Santana, do you remember that time last Christmas when my mom made me a plate of cookies and I ate them all and I didn't tell you because I thought you would be mad? And you were just glad because even though it was sad you didn't get any, it was okay because I got some and you want me to be happy?"
She stared at you uncomprehending. "Britts, I'm the one who ate the cookies. But yeah. What are you going on about?"
You nodded, hoping she would play along. "And remember the time... remember that time, the first month we met, when I beat up that boy with my magic even though I could have used too much because he said something mean about you, and you told me that even though it was nice, I didn't always have to protect you?" She nodded warily, taking off her sun glasses and adjusting herself to sit up while you still lied on your back on the towel that was blocking you from the stinging heat of the plastic pool chairs, eyes now closed now that the hard part was coming.
"Yes..."
"... And remember..." You peeked your eyes open at her indecipherable expression before closing them again to just say it before you lost your nerve. You were nervous all of the time. "Remember that one time when I was friends with this girl named ... Littany." You could hear a laugh escape her throat. "And she was one grade before me because she wasn't that smart in school like the other kids, and I didn't even make fun of her because my name was... Lantana and I was really cool and everyone wanted to be my friend? But I chose Litt instead?" You couldn't wait for her to respond before you continued. You had to keep going. "And one day, during the summer, I got this letter..." Her hand that was just placed on your arm out of lack of room tightened around your wrist. "And I didn't tell her, because I thought she would be mad at me?" You couldn't hear anything. "She wasn't, you know. Mad. I thought you should know."
A noise broke the silence, a choked sob. You jumped up, eyes opening and arms wrapped around her before you even knew the noise had come from her. Her back was rod straight, and she looked just as surprised as you did that she made the noise in the first place. Her face looked hot red, and not from the sun. You couldn't tell if she was mad or not, so instead you adjusted yourself and put your arm around her. It was hard for you to talk, sometimes. But she looked like she wanted to listen to something right now. So you talked. Only normal, because she understood now so you didn't have to do it backwards. "I'm Brittany again, okay? Because I almost messed up like three times and it'll be easier if I'm her again. Okay?"
A smile. Good.
"Everything is going to be okay, San. You're magic. And I don't mean the kind that you do to protect me. I mean why you do it. You're going to go, and be super popular, and everyone is going to love you." Like I do... But don't say that out loud, Brittany. She'll act weird and say something she doesn't mean. "And then every summer, you can come and visit me. You'll still be my best friend. I'll even ask Mom if she can help me write better so we can write letters to each other every day." The thought of you not seeing her next year, and the year after that, and the year after that, made your heart hurt more than you could even understand. But she kept tightening her hold on your hand, which meant that she was feeling the same thing. Neither of you wanted this, but as she pulled a crisp letter from the bag that she was keeping under the chair, with her name in neat script on the envelope and a large H dangling from the open back, you knew it was happening.
You both did. But she finally started talking, and you weren't sure. "Maybe... maybe something will work out. Maybe something will happen, and you can come too."
You smiled, but not really. Because Santana didn't maybe. She knew things. You were the one who maybe-d. Could people switch?
"Maybe."
Your arm stayed curled around her shoulders.
You're at the airport. And then the taxi cab on the wrong side of the road. And then the train station.
You helped her pack her bag all week. It would have taken a shorter time, but she didn't let her mom help her at all and every thing she put in the bag, she wanted to sit down and tell you how it reminded you of her with her stone face that she had for days. To make it easy, she said. It didn't feel easy. But you were knowing, and she was off her high of maybe's the closer the departure date arrived, and neither of you knew what to do when Fate decides to take away your best friend at age 11.
She was in her overalls, the ones that you drew all over one day during lunch, and her long dark hair was pulled back in a red ribbon that you were pretty sure she took off the dress that you wore to her last birthday party after playing hide and seek with her gross boy cousins that spit and pulled and yanked things. You only had five minutes left. And then two. And then she was hugging you, and turning around. Her back straightened, and she walked towards the train determinedly while you stood behind and watched her walk away.
You couldn't feel anything besides the clamminess of your hands. You couldn't hear anything besides the sound of the train whistle blowing the second the clock struck on the hour. And you couldn't taste anything other than bile in the back of your throat. If you could imagine, you could look at the windows racing by your face and imagine that your best friend is sitting in a booth, talking to a new group of kids and starting fresh as Santana, Witch. Instead of Santana, Brittany's bodyguard. You want to be happy for her. You are. But you're also sad. Too sad for an eleven year old to bear.
"Hey, watch out!"
Smash.
"Watch where you're going, idiot!"
A quick turn around, to walk away and towards the corner where Santana's parents said they'd meet you for the awkward plane ride back.
You, completely missing the snotty-nosed preteen boy shooting up like a rocket and getting stuck on the roof of a shopping booth.
A/N: Written for Day 2 of Brittana Week on tumblr (HP crossover), but this 'verse pleases me and I'd continue it if people want to see more. Hope you liked it either way! I haven't written in a while. Dedicated to friend and beta Sabria (EtherealPhoenix here and UnholyTrifecta on tumblr) for being so supportive and listening to me while I ranted about this spur of the moment idea.